Ryōkan Taigu’s poetry returns again and again to the image of a life pared down to essentials: the grass hut, the begging bowl, the tattered robe. Material poverty is not treated as misfortune but as a deliberate embrace of simplicity, a way of expressing spiritual freedom and non-attachment. This humble existence is set against the backdrop of nature and the seasons—moon, snow, rain, mountains, flowers, drifting clouds—so that the most modest objects and scenes become transparent to a deeper awareness. Nature in his verse does not function as heavy-handed symbolism; rather, it appears as a direct, unadorned presence that quietly reveals impermanence and the character of mind.

Alongside this simplicity stands the motif of solitude: the hermit in his hut, walking mountain paths, sitting in silence, withdrawn from worldly affairs. Yet this solitude is not one-dimensional; it carries both peace and a gentle, human loneliness, sometimes tinged with longing. Within that space of aloneness, Ryōkan reflects on meditation, contemplation, and the distance he keeps from institutional religion and temple formalism. His preference is for an “off-the-record” Zen expressed in everyday acts—sweeping, mending robes, begging, cooking, walking—where each ordinary gesture can embody the Way without fanfare or doctrinal display.

Another striking current in his work is playfulness, especially in poems about children and games in village lanes. The childlike mind—innocent, spontaneous, uncalculating—serves as a living image of Zen awareness, free from self-conscious striving. This playfulness is not mere whimsy; it coexists with a deep sensitivity to suffering, expressed as compassion and kindness toward peasants, villagers, and the poor. The same compassionate gaze extends to human folly, including his own, so that even weakness and error are met with understanding rather than harsh judgment.

Running through these poems is a clear awareness of impermanence: aging, illness, death, the passing of seasons, the falling of petals, the fading of friendships. This sense of transience is closely linked to themes of non-attachment and emptiness, often conveyed in light, unforced ways—nothing special to attain, nothing solid to cling to. Ryōkan frequently portrays himself with self-deprecating humor, as foolish, lazy, or incompetent, thereby undercutting spiritual pride and pointing toward egolessness. Honest emotion is never far away: sadness, regret, and longing appear alongside gratitude, quiet joy, and moments of insight, giving his poetry a tone that is at once intimate, unpretentious, and deeply grounded in Zen understanding.